Slayer of his Brothers
by D.M.O 452
Summary: About an X5 who is much darker and more of an antihero than max, who escapes Manticore after max destroys the Seattle installation. Note: There is no ASV, weird mutants, or breeding cult, and Manticore and deck are still around. Things might change later,


Rating: R  
  
Disclaimer: These characters and such are not mine, blah, blah, blah, why do I bother with this crap.  
  
June 8th, 2018  
  
X5-696, known to certain others as Cain, adjusted his firing stance and zoomed in with the rifle's scope. He was aiming from a window on the 24th floor of a Fort Lauderdale resort hotel, overlooking a pristine black-white parking lot filled with expensive sports cars and scurrying valets. The target should have arrived by now, and was already running several minutes late. A little too late. Cain wondered if the man's federal escorts had managed to catch wind of him somehow.  
  
He'd taken all the right precautions, employing a flurry of fake ID's, birth records, and forged documents saying that he was Leland Walterson, a Biotech corporation representative who was here to negotiate terms for a deal with the local medical board regarding a new vaccine. He had studied the federal procedures and safeguards regarding witness protection, albeit briefly, and had compensated for anything they might try. The X5 had been perfectly trained and briefed for this mission and countless others, the best minds and talents of the U.S armed forces honing his skills, programming into him more than he would ever need and then some. But still there was that lingering doubt, the irrational fear that gripped his chest right before he went for an objective. His instructors would have been disgusted with him.  
  
|"Soldiers don't subject themselves to dangerous emotions. Emotions are for the weak, the prey of those who know better and are more deserving of survival. Focus on your mission, and never let personal feelings compromise your objective, regardless of what they may be. Remember, emotions are weakness, and weakness leads to failure. Failure equals death. If not at the hands of the enemy, than as a just and necessary punishment for the soldier who fails in his duty..." The drill instructor shouted at them, while the stun baton wielding guards forced their heads to remain raised; eyes aimed forward. The Sergeant's red hot, dangerous glare felt like it was pointed directly at him, and into him, penetrating his mind and soul to hammer the words like nails into the deepest roots of his consciousness...|  
  
Christ, he was so tired of their stupid fucking litanies of what a soldier should be, of all the mindless rhetoric they had tried to instill in him. He was better prepared than they could imagine, and never before had he failed them. His stupid little doubts wouldn't change any of that. He wiped a thin bead of sweat off of his tanned forehead and brushed a strand of his black hair to the side. Cain's green eyes flickered against the stifling heat of the mid-day sun. 696 continued to wait.  
  
Just as he thought that the mark wasn't going to show and rose to his feet to check with his sources again, a long black spook car pulled up to the curb of the hotel's front entrance. Cain zoomed in on the rear door, finger tensing in anticipation. Faint traces of a grin appeared on his mouth. Killing was hard work, complicated and dangerous, but sometimes it could be surprisingly exciting. A lot of people in the outside world would be horrified, but to him it was just one of the very few benefits of being a genetically engineered killer who was created and forced to serve an organization that didn't officially exist. He didn't understand why it bothered people so much, really. Human lives were petty and insignificant, nothing more than drops of water in an ocean. It mattered little if a few of those drops were disposed of prematurely.  
  
Most of the time, though, he was merely indifferent. Killing people was a job, just like any other. He didn't feel the need to worry about difficult questions of morality, and didn't really care. What he did worry about was what they would do to him or the others if he failed or deviated from his orders. The Manticore reprogramming and punishment system wasn't something to be taken lightly, to say the least.  
  
But he was damn good at what he did. The best, if you wanted to believe what his superiors had to say.  
  
He watched as the Feds poured out and formed a protective circle around the blond haired witness coming out the right rear door. They shouted and flashed their badges, shooing away valets and the small crowd passing by on the sidewalk. More FBI cars began pulling up on both sides of the witness car, more agents wearing dark jackets and carrying automatic weapons rushing forth to take positions and secure the vicinity. The primary cluster of feds that surrounded 696's target watched their surroundings warily, but never thought to look up to where the barely visible glint of the assassin's weapon briefly emanated from the window. The X5 drew his rifle back a bit, and quickly compensated his aim.  
  
After a while, the agents grew satisfied with situation. They started to move the witness towards the entrance.  
  
Then there was a spit of flame from Cain's suppressor equipped barrel, and the witness fell to the ground with a massive hole in his head, spraying flecks of red across the hardened white stone of the sidewalk. The agents dropped and scattered for cover amidst a whirlwind of screaming, bellowed orders, and messy yet well controlled chaos. Cain slipped the rifle back into the room and began to dismantle it, and tucking the parts into a long black briefcase. He dusted the powder off the windowsill, casually ignoring the commotion going on beneath him. He rested easy in the fact that there was no way the incident could be traced to him, and that he could walk out of the hotel right then and there and nobody would be the wiser.  
  
Another day, another successful mission. Maybe if he could convince them he was loyal enough they'd let him have a few more privileges, like the freedom to go out now and then while not on assignment. It'd be nice to hang out with normal people, and indulge himself in the daily luxuries the damn humans took for granted.  
  
On the hot concrete far below, the witnesses' wife ran towards his already cooling remains, tears streaming down her face, screaming in violent hysteria. The couple's one month old baby remained in the car that had been in the rear of the convoy of spook cars, oblivious in her infant sleep. Her mother was wearing a tan suit that turned red at the sleeves as she knelt at her husband's side, cradling his head in her arms. Deep, throaty sobs wracked her body like a seizure, making it look like she was about to explode from the force of her grief and horror. For several long minutes she engaged in the futility of begging the man to wake up, of praying that she and her daughter would not be left alone. Eventually the agents cajoled and half dragged her from the scene. The inevitable gathering crowd was dissipated and the shouting of angry FBI commanders, clattering feet, and crackling radios was accompanied by the shrieking wails of sirens.  
  
Cain uncorked the bottle of champagne lying on the table that had been left for him by the hotel staff. He poured the bubbling liquid into a tall, stainless glass, and laid back into his chair as the fiery beverage traveled down his dry throat.  
  
He had another 48 hours to kill before he had to report in. He weighed his options, and then decided that he would hang out at the beach for the next few hours. Maybe go swimming, and then head to the bar for some fascinating conversation with the locals. He could never have enough of the overwhelming freedom and rare luxuries he got on missions like this. Maybe he could even pick up a lady friend this evening.  
  
It was times like these that life actually felt good.  
  
For a moment, he thought of Eve, and how she would breath a sigh of relief and shed her tense demeanor once she got word the mission was successful. It wasn't that she wanted the man dead, none of them did really, she was just afraid for Cain a lot. Afraid of something going wrong, afraid he would be killed or caught, afraid of the things Manticore would do to him. Just like she feared for the rest of her squadron, though she would never attempt to show it or let it slip out in anyway. Emotion was weakness, after all, and it could compromise the morale of the members of X5-C to see their beloved leader subject to such foolishness. He chuckled to himself softly. Everyone knew she cared for them more than anything, and would sacrifice herself for them in an instant. Even though she always acted like she was only looking out for the successful completion of their assignments, and the continued effectiveness and ranking of their team.  
  
He smiled then, remembering her piercing blue eyes and lush brown hair, and how she would scream at him for deviating from procedure all the time. And how he would be the only one in that barracks who would have the nerve to talk back and argue with her despite her position as their commander, and how infuriated she would be with his insubordination.  
  
Eve was a good leader though, the best any X5 team could hope to have. Because of her time and dedication to her unit, they could coordinate their actions like clockwork, most of the time not even using the simplest hand signals, effortlessly anticipating the actions of each member. It was like they were all parts of a single organism, and Eve was the glue that held them together. She knew how to handle each and every one of them in any given situation, always knowing what to do, and always pushing each of them to go beyond their limits. She was the type of leader who would go to extremes to make sure you were giving 200 percent, like waking you up during your meager 4 hours of sleep time to force you to practice a drill you made a mistake on, or correct a weakness in your hand to hand technique. Oftentimes she went so far that they all hated her for it, sometimes driving Cain so far as to seriously consider killing her, consequences be damned.  
  
As harsh and unforgiving she was when it came to imperfections in her unit, X5-239 was nevertheless kind and surprisingly understanding at times. She would always be there to talk to him, off the record, whenever he had a problem he couldn't deal with, whenever their hellish existence at Manticore got too much for him. With a soothing, calm voice that was the polar opposite she used during morning drill, she'd somehow she'd manage to convince him to remain strong, even though it was nothing more than a mask he hid his terror and pain under. The same could be said about her relationship with everyone else in the unit.  
  
And if there was one truly good thing about Eve, it was that she never lowered herself to the level of the bastards who had created and trained them, who hurt them and made their waking hours full of constant fear and impotent hatred of their brutal masters. Never could he remember her raising her hand to one of them in anger, or reporting them to the officers so they would be tortured and put through reprogramming. If she did anything to you, it was so that those in power didn't do something worse.  
  
He abruptly snapped out of his reverie and noticed that an entire half hour had gone by as he was sitting there, thinking of something that reminded him of Manticore instead of going out and enjoying this precious bit of freedom. He left the glass on the table, swept to his feet, and grabbed his jacket. It'd be more than a crime to miss out on an opportunity to get his mind away from the place. 


End file.
